


God Bless Summer (and Sam Winchester, Miniskirts, and Other Beautiful Things)

by imdeansgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Bisexual Male Character, F/F, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderfluid Character, Lesbian Character, Nonbinary Character, Other, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4703609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imdeansgirl/pseuds/imdeansgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sam Winchester: Ethereal Angel Next Door" is both gender neutral and better descriptive anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	God Bless Summer (and Sam Winchester, Miniskirts, and Other Beautiful Things)

**Author's Note:**

> this is shit. im shit. i wrote this in 20 minutes and still missed a deadline. good luck.

Kevin loves the summer. 

The sun poured down on the sidewalks, ice cream trucks rolled past, the tinny music tinkering out of the speakers in high volumes. Kids outside playing jumprope, laughing at their rhymes and hand games and having the times of their lives. Crystal clear blue skies. Green grass. 

But mostly because it’s the best time of the year to live next to Sam Winchester. 

Sam, with their long hair that they tie up in a ponytail when it gets too hot. Sam, who wears short shorts and tanktops and miniskirts when weather permits. Sam, whose father Bobby and brother Dean ask them to wash the car once every other week, often leaving them shirtless. 

Sam. 

When Kevin was younger, he and Charlie would sit out and watch them work. Of course, at the time, they didn’t know them at all; they cupped their hands and whispered about the “hot boy nextdoor,” the one who “dresses funny.” One day, when Sam came out wearing a skirt and Kevin’s mother was home, she pulled both children inside, making clucking noises with her tongue. “Kids these days,” she muttered, turning on some cartoon show. “Their parents let them go out in anything they want.” Then she left the room, and Charlie and Kevin promptly became glued to the window again. 

Things hadn’t changed much. Sam stopped being the “hot boy” and became the “ethereal angel nextdoor,” because it was gender neutral and better descriptive anyway. 

(Sam came out on a sunny Tuesday as nonbinary. Their older brother had to come pick them up, the kids were so mean. Now they’re homeschooled by their brother, who studied to become a teacher for this purpose—schooling children without any kind of hate or prejudice.) 

And Charlie lost interest. “Why want boys when you can have _women_?” she said. It was okay, because Kevin wasn’t all that into anyone. He just liked Sam. 

As far as either of them know, Sam doesn’t leave the house much. They never drive the rusty old Impala sitting in front of their house, or walk anywhere either. They don’t haunt any of the local hangouts or anything. They just wash the car, mow the lawn, and walk the dog. And that’s all Kevin ever sees of them. 

Sometimes friends come over—a dark haired person, always in a sweater and either wearing jeans or a skirt, a light haired person who seems to be the date of the other, and a person with long blonde hair and a bright laugh. It is one of those days—when the Kansas heat has risen to a ripe ninety seven degrees and the sun is beating harshly on the sidewalk—that Charlie has had enough. “Kevin,” she says. Her eyes are trained on his laptop screen, and Kevin’s are glued on the window, where Sam mows the lawn and their three friends sit on their porch patiently, talking among themselves “You’re leaving for California in three weeks.” 

“Right,” he says distractedly, chewing on his lower lip as he tracks the muscles of Sam’s biceps. 

Behind him, she huffs. “You’ve had a crush on Sam Winchester for ten years,” she says impatiently, cutting directly to the point. “Will you _please_ go over there and talk to them?” 

Spinning around so fast the chair almost drops to the floor, he gapes at her. “Go _over_?” he asks. “Like, _physically_? And talk to them?” This time it’s him who huffs, and he crosses his arms. “No way. What if they don’t like me back? What if, as soon as I step through the front door, my buckle undoes itself and my pants fall down? What if— _OW!_ ” 

She winces. “Sorry,” she says. “Didn’t mean for the pillow to hit you that hard.” She sighs and closes down the laptop, and scooches to face him. “Look,” she says, “You’ve been in love with them since we were eight years old. If you don’t go over there _right now_ and say something, I will drag you over there by your ears.” 

Ten minutes later, Charlie has Kevin by the ears and is dragging him down the sidewalk as he yelps in pain and makes hollow threats. She pulls him to a stop in front of the Winchester’s door, and knocks loudly. Sam and friends are nowhere in sight. 

Luckily, it’s not Sam who opens the door, but Dean. He smiles at them, and Kevin frowns down at the apron tied around his waist. It’s pink and white checkered, with lace around the bottom. It’s not something Kevin would ever picture Dean in, that’s for sure. “Can I help you?” he asks. 

Charlie smiles, her cheesiest, most prizewinning smile. “We’re here to see Sam,” she says sweetly. Kevin scowls at her. 

Dean nods cheerfully, and turns to yell up the stairs. “Sam!” he says. “Door!” He opens the door wider and motions them in, waits until they’re seated on the couch and makes his way behind another door, one Kevin assumes leads to the kitchen. 

The inside of the Winchester house is exactly how Kevin pictured it. It’s neat, and tidy, with pictures of the two siblings everywhere. Some include their father, and some are the two of them, and some are just of the kids individually. Kevin’s examining one on the coffee table next to him when they hear light padding down the stairs. 

“Oh. Hi.” 

Kevin’s first thought is _God bless the heat,_ because Sam is in booty shorts and a loosely draped tanktop, their hair back in a bright blue band. “Hi, Sam,” Charlie says, because Kevin can do nothing but gape at this point. “I’m Charlie, and this is—” 

“Kevin,” Sam interjects, with a slight nod. “You live nextdoor.” They still, eyes wide, a blush rising from their chest to their cheeks, and then adds timidly, “Right?” 

Charlie snickers, belatedly hiding it with her hand. “Sorry,” she says. “You just remind me of my best friend.” Kevin glares at her, and she hurries to continue. “Anyway,” she says, “we were just wondering if you wanted to hang out. We’re leaving for college in a few weeks and realized we’ve never spoken. What time to start making friends like the present, eh?” 

Kevin nods, because yes, that totally make sense, sure, why not. Sam bites their lip, then glances up the stairs and back. “I’m kind of hanging out with people right now,” they say. Kevin’s face must show his disappointment, because Sam rushes to tack on, “But I’m sure they won’t mind. Come on up.” 

Winking at him, Charlie stands and tugs Kevin up the stairs behind Sam. (Kevin may, or may not, trip while staring at their ass. Only Charlie knows the truth.) 

They lead Charlie and Sam to their room, inside are the three friends. They all look up at them and frown. “Who are they?” the one with the long hair asks, tipping their head in Charlie and Kevin’s direction. 

“This is my nextdoor neighbor, Kevin, and his friend Charlie,” Sam says. “They just want to hang out, if that’s cool?” 

Thankfully, everyone sitting on the floor nods. So Sam takes a seat, and when they pat the ground next to them, Kevin follows suit. Charlie falls to the floor too, gracelessly, as she stairs at the person with the long hair quite obviously. Kevin elbows her in the ribs and she squeaks. 

“Not to offend you,” says the darkhaired person in a skirt and a smiley face sweater, timid and meek, “but we take names, genders, pronouns, and sexualities at the door.” They clear their throat, and add, “Mandy, genderfluid, she and hers today, and demisexual.” 

“Or you could just call her ‘your majesty,’” says the person sitting next to him, grinning. “She would answer.” Sam snorts, and Mandy rolls her eyes and knocks them lightly on the shoulder with her own. “Adam, cis, he and his, and bisexual. Though…” He holds up his hand, intertwined with hers. “I just really like Mandy.” 

Mandy positively beams, and the longhaired person rolls their eyes. “Jo,” she says. “Trans girl, she and hers, and I’m a lesbian.” 

Next to Kevin, Charlie’s eyes light up. “Charlie,” she says with a wink. “Cis. She and hers. Lesbian.” 

While she and Jo exchange flirtatious looks, Kevin says meekly, “Kevin, cis, he and his. And…” 

This is the part he’s never really figured out. Because he likes Sam. That’s it. That’s all he’s ever liked, and ‘Sam-sexual’ isn’t a thing. So he just shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. 

Instead of any backlash, he gets a “That’s cool” from Adam, before he turns to Sam. “Did you tell them what we were _doing_ when we were hanging out?” 

Sam rolls their eyes. “Drinking,” they mumble, turning to Kevin. “Jo likes to get tipsy before going home to her mom, and it’s a ‘we drink together’ kind of deal.” 

Before Kevin can say anything, Charlie says, “That’s fine.” She pulls out her phone and begins texting. 

“What’re you doing?” Kevin asks. 

“Texting my parents and telling them I’m staying at yours,” she says. “Your mom is out for the weekend and there’s no way I’m driving back drunk.” 

That’s true. His mom _is_ out for the weekend. And Sam, the ethereal angel nextdoor, is asking him to drink with them. It’s _Sam._ Booty shorts, tanktops, miniskirts _Sam._ He’s not going to say no. And Charlie, he thinks as she puts her phone and grins, knows that. 

“Okay,” Kevin says finally. 

Adam nods and pushes the bottle across the floor towards him. “Drink up, Spidey Kev,” he says, and Kevin does. 

An hour later, all hell has broken loose. Adam and Mandy are making out on Sam’s bed, Jo has firmly planted herself on Charlie’s lap and is whispering into her ear, and Kevin and Sam have pushed themselves up against a wall, quietly murmuring and laughing but not anything sexual. They talk about college (Sam’s going to Stanford, and Kevin to California College of the Arts. “So maybe I’ll see you in California?” Sam asks, biting their lip. The alcohol in Kevin builds up and bursts out the words: “God, I hope so.” Sam laughs, ducks their head), and music (Sam is punk rock, and Kevin is pop), and video games (“Adam makes me play Call of Duty,” Sam says, laughing. “He says Mandy’s a lousy shot and I’m the only one who gives him any competition. But he never asks Jo to play. She beats him every time.” Kevin smiles and confides he would probably lose, but Charlie would kick his ass). Eventually, Charlie stands up abruptly, as does Jo. “Don’t come home for an hour,” she says, patting Kevin on the head. Jo leans up and whispers in her ear, and Charlie grins. “ _Two_ hours,” she ammends. They head out the door, hand in hand. 

Sam laughs, and Kevin groans. “They’re gonna do it in my bed,” he mutters. “And there’s no way I can stop Charlie.” 

“No way you can stop Jo either,” Sam adds. “They’re gonna make a good couple.” 

Kevin glances over to where Mandy and Adam are still heavypetting. “They’re not the only ones,” he adds. 

Next thing he knows, Sam is grabbing his hand with their own. “Yeah,” they say, as they rest their hands ontop of their bare thigh. “Maybe not.” 

Kevin _loves_ the heat, he decides once again, as he stares down at his hand on top of the smooth skin of Sam’s thigh. 

Once two hours have passed, Kevin stumbles down the stairs. Sam is on his heels, since Mandy and Adam decided they needed a little more privacy. Sam rolled their eyes, told them not to stain the new sheets, and followed Kevin out the door. “You gonna be okay walking home?” Sam asks. 

He shrugs. “Fine enough,” he says. “I’m not more than tipsy. If Charlie and Jo are still having sex in my room, can I come back?” 

Sam grins. “Okay,” they says. 

Nodding, Kevin opens the door and is about to leave when he hears, “Kevin?” He turns on his heel, and Sam, suddenly close, kisses him on the cheek. “Can we, like, hang out again?” 

Kevin blinks. “A date?” he asks hopefully, and Sam blushes again and nods. The alcohol in his stomach and the heat outside combine into one phrase: “Hell yeah.” 

They beam at him, and nod. “Okay,” they say again. 

And Kevin can only say: “Okay.” And he backs out the door, and down the stairs, and down the sidewalk inside his house. He doesn’t hear anyone, so he takes it as a good sign and looks out the window. This time, Sam’s looking back. They smile and wave. 

Summer is most certainly the best time to live nextdoor to Sam Winchester. 

**Author's Note:**

> i don't even go here anymore.


End file.
